#EnglishWriters
Brilliant, this day ' a young vi… Morning shadow cut by sharpest sci… deft hands. And every prodigy of g… whether it’s ferns or lichens or n… or impatient points of buds on spi…
Though the road turn at last to death’s ordinary door, and we knock there, ready to enter and it opens easily for us,
White dawn. Stillness.When the ri… &nbs p; I took it for… &nb sp; of salt, of tr… didn’t stir; the leaves of my brot… unmoving.
The red eyes of rabbits aren’t sad. No one passes the sad golden village in a barge any more. The sunset will leave it alone. If the
Since I stroll in the woods more… than on this frequented path, it’s… trees I observe; but among fellow… what I like best is to see an old… fishing alone at the end of a jett…
There’s in my mind a woman of innocence, unadorned but fair-featured and smelling of apples or grass. She wears a utopian smock or shift, her hair
The ache of marriage: thigh and tongue, beloved, are heavy with it, it throbs in the teeth We look for communion
“Adam, where are you?”   ; God’s hands palpate darkness, the void that is Adam’s inattention, his confused attention to everythi…
Rose Red’s hair is brown as fur and shines in firelight as she pre… supper of honey and apples, curds… for the bear, and leaves it ready on the hearth-stone.
Among the blight-killed eucalypts,… trees and bushes rusted by Christm… the yards and hillsides exhausted… certain airy white blossoms punctu… reappeared, and dense clusters of…
Ah, Grief, I should not treat you like a homeless dog who comes to the back door for a crust, for a meatless bone. I should trust you.
Bricks of the wall, so much older than the house - taken I think from a farm pulled d… when the street was built - narrow bricks of another century.
After I had cut off my hands and grown new ones something my former hands had long… came and asked to be rocked. After my plucked out eyes
The fire in leaf and grass so green it seems each summer the last summer. The wind blowing, the leaves shivering in the sun,
That dog with daisies for eyes who flashes forth flame of his very self at every ba… is the Dog of Art. Worked in wool, his blind eyes